


The Only Time I Feel Warm is When I’m in Your Spotlight

by abstractconcept



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Colorado Avalanche, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, Snuggling, attention hog, bed sharing, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3615366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: <i>I read a quote somewhere and Landy's sister basically implies he was a pain in the ass when he was living at home because he wanted everyone's attention all the time.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>With that in mind, I want a fic where Landy is all over someone, trying to get their attention on him at all times, super demanding about it regardless of what they're doing or who they're with.</i></p><p> </p><p>Basically Gabe is a huge attention whore, and Matt is slowly starting to realize why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Time I Feel Warm is When I’m in Your Spotlight

**Author's Note:**

> Fic also written to fulfill the trope bingo square "sharing a bed."

“So yeah, it was a good effort tonight by the guys. That’s the sort of effort we need to bring, you know, night in and night out,” Matt finished. 

Julie opened her mouth, but before she could get a word in, Matt felt something heavy across his shoulders. He glanced over to find Gabe basically draped over him, grinning. He even waved at the camera. Matt laughed. 

Julie did too. “Thanks, Matt,” she said. 

“No problem.” When the microphone was far enough away, he added to Gabe, “Get off me, you big dweeb.”

“That’s not what you said last night,” Gabe teased, still snuggling him fiercely. 

Matt flushed. “Oh, my God.” He pushed Gabe away, but Gabe went right back to hugging him like a big Swedish vise. “Don’t say weird stuff like that.”

“Come on, don’t be a prude.”

After a while, Matt gave up. If Gabe Landeskog wanted to cuddle you, you’d better give up and resign yourself to being cuddled. He had learned from long experience that Gabe was very stubborn, and also that he needed attention and sucked it up like a black hole. And the more you tried to fight it, the more insistent he became. 

He always wore you down eventually.

It was totally annoying. 

Gabe rested his chin on Matt’s shoulder. “Good game tonight, Dutchy.”

Matt couldn’t help grinning a little. “You too.”

Well. It was mostly annoying. 

“Mmmmm,” Gabe murmured, right next to Matt’s ear. He was nuzzling Matt’s shoulder happily. 

Matt felt his blush grow even brighter. 

“Landy and Dutchy, sitting in a tree!” MacKinnon sang cheerfully. 

Matt squirmed loose. 

“Aw, come on. Let me love you,” Gabe said. He grabbed Matt and tried to engulf him. 

“Go take a shower, you big, smelly Swedish blanket,” Matt retorted, pulling away. He changed his mind.

It was _seriously_ annoying.

\--

After flying into Chicago, Matt was hanging out in Zach’s room and watching The Bachelor. “Man, what a crock,” he commented. 

Zach laughed. He didn’t get too wrapped up in TV. Matt was kind of embarrassed to be watching it with another guy—an ex-girlfriend had gotten him hooked on it—but he was kind of a completionist and anyway, Zach was down for watching anything. 

“Wanna order a pizza?” Zach said hopefully. 

Matt gave him a look. 

“Right, right. Gluten. Cheese. Unhealthy habits. Bad Zach, bad.” He grinned and took another pull on his bottle of coke. 

There was a knock on the door and Gabe poked his head in. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

Matt didn’t answer; he was busy watching TV. Zach shrugged. “Bachelor.” He and Matt were both on the bed. Matt was sprawled out across the foot of the bed while Zach was crosslegged, with his back against the headboard. He was only half watching the TV. Most of his attention was on whoever he was texting. Matt didn’t care. You could hang out with someone without needing to talk or, like, pay attention to them every second.

Well, you could hang out with Zach Redmond that way.

You could _not_ hang out with Gabe Landeskog that way.

“I need to stretch my legs,” Zach commented. He shoved his legs out across Matt’s stomach.

Matt laughed and tried to shove them off. “Come on, get those toxic weapons out of my face!”

“Hey, man, it was a long flight! My legs are cramping,” Redmond replied.

“So stand up and stretch!” Matt told him. This didn’t seem to have any affect on Zach, who kept snickering and putting his feet all over Matt.

After a minute of lounging against the doorframe, looking from Matt to Zach and back again, Gabe decided to join them. He crawled onto the bed, wedging himself between them and making Zach scrunch his legs way up to make room.

“Come on, man, this is my room,” Zach complained. 

Gabe half rolled over to look at him, stuck his tongue out, and turned back around. He was against Matt’s back, crammed up against him, almost as though they were spooning. 

Despite his deep and abiding interest in the lives of everyone on The Bachelor, Matt found his mind wandering. His awareness of Gabe’s body was making him feel squirmy and uncomfortable. He wondered why. Zach never made him feel squirmy and uncomfortable. 

On the other hand, it was pretty rare for Zach to have his crotch flat up against Matt’s ass, too. 

Matt couldn’t help it. The knot of tension in his stomach made him shift, discomfited. 

Gabe sucked in a sharp breath, then slowly let it out again. Matt could feel it against the back of his neck, tickling the hairs there. 

After a minute or two, Zach got up. He said something, but Matt wasn’t really paying attention. His entire being was focused on the warmth of Gabe, pressed up against him. 

“Wanna scoot up?” Gabe asked. He threw back the covers.

“Uh, sure.”

It was a little better, kicking back against the pillows instead of pressed against each other. A little. But Matt couldn’t help noticing they were watching TV in bed together just the way an actual couple would, side by side. Well, who cared? How else were you supposed to get comfortable in a bed?

After several minutes, Gabe sighed. He snuggled down into the covers—and threw an arm around Matt. “Hey, what are you doing?” Matt said. 

“Getting comfortable. Feel like I can finally breathe.”

“Well, I can’t,” Matt told him, flushed to his hairline. Gabe’s arm circled his waist, clutching him tight. 

“You seem fine to cuddle with Redmond,” Gabe grumbled. 

Matt was taken aback. “We weren’t cuddling. We weren’t even touching! Where’d he go, anyway?”

“What do you mean, where’d he go? We switched rooms. Weren’t you listening? He said if I was going to be a bed hog he would go sleep in my room.”

“Oh, great.”

Gabe seemed unfazed, though, snuggling closer and putting his head on Matt’s chest. His grip had loosened though, so it was somewhat more comfortable. 

A little while later, when the program ended, Matt assumed Gabe was asleep, and quietly tried to slip out of the bed. Gabe’s arm flexed, suddenly stone. “Let go,” Matt muttered, shaking him a little. 

Gabe made a noise in his sleep. His brow was knotted. “Mmm,” he growled. The pitch and timbre of his voice made Matt shiver. To his embarrassment, he was starting to get turned on. Gabe rubbed his face against Matt’s chest, his scratchy beard totally alien . . . and again, kind of exciting. Matt squirmed, trying to make sure he wasn’t tenting the bedspread. 

“Gabe . . .” Matt shook him again, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to really wake him. “Come on.”

“Mph.”

“Gabe.”

“Mmm.” Gabe muttered something in Swedish.

Matt raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“ _Mine_ ,” Gabe mumbled, squirming closer. 

Matt gulped hard. “I don’t think so, buddy.” He tried to wriggle loose, but it was like a Chinese finger trap: every time he tried to get away, Gabe’s grip on him tightened. If he laid perfectly still, the Swede’s arms would slowly relax. 

He tried several times to escape, but in the end he realized he was well and truly stuck. He was sleeping with Gabe Landeskog, like it or not. Of course, he could just sock Gabe in the arm and really wake him up, but then . . . well, then they’d both be awake and in bed together, with Gabe’s arm around him and Matt with a pretty obvious erection. No. No, he did not think it would be a good idea to wake Gabe up. 

He flopped back and tried to count sheep. Hopefully he’d either fall asleep or it would make his hard on go away.

He gave up on trying to get out of bed. He laid there like a plank until the steady sound of Gabe’s breathing eventually made him drift off, too.

\--

 

Matt was having a very in-depth conversation with the coach at the next practice when Gabe suddenly popped up. 

“Are you talking about me?”

Matt turned to him, exasperated. “Why? Is your name Neutral Zone Trap?”

“For you, it could be.”

Matt grabbed a clipboard out of Patrick’s hands and whacked Gabe on the shoulder with it. “Go away, pest!”

Gabe laughed, but retreated. 

“Sorry,” Matt mumbled when he saw Patrick’s expression. 

“Are you two having problems?” Patrick’s shrewd blue eyes seemed to scan his brain.

“ _No_.” Even if he were having problems with Gabe, he wouldn’t go and fucking tattle like a kindergartner. Besides, the last guy who had problems with Gabe got _traded_. Patrick had made it real clear that, like it or not, Gabe was the captain, and everyone else needed to fall in line. 

“Okay, but don’t let it affect the team,” Patrick warned.

Matt just grunted. 

After practice, he went out for lunch with a few of the guys. They hit Mad Greens and the line was out the door. By the time Matt finally got his hands on his food (a Ghengis Khan salad with extra grilled chicken) he was almost faint from hunger. But before he’d even taken a seat, his phone buzzed. 

Matt set his food down and rummaged around for his phone. It was a text from Gabe’s number. Matt put it away. 

“Who was that?” Ginner asked. 

“Wrong number,” Matt huffed. They dug into their food. Matt shoved the world’s biggest bite of salad in his mouth, chewing it happily despite the fact that half of it was still hanging out of his mouth, like a cow, when his phone buzzed again. He glanced at it and rolled his eyes, then put it, face-side down, on the table. 

“Want me to answer that for you, Bessie?” Ginner said sweetly. The phone buzzed again. And again. 

Matt glowered at him while Nate laughed like a hyena. “No,” he managed after chewing patiently for several minutes.

The phone buzzed again. Matt groaned. He picked it up. _Are you IGNORING me????_ Gabe had typed. 

Matt set his fork aside and responded, _Yes. Now buzz off. You’re like a fly on a pile of manure._

_Said the manure,_ Gabe texted back smugly. 

Matt put his phone away. He looked at Nate. “How do _you_ put up with it?” he asked. 

Nate looked blank. 

“Gabe. He’s so—so— _you_ know.” Matt gestured helplessly with his fork. “Look at me, Ma! Look how high I can swing! Are you watching, Ma? Are you watching? You’re not watching!”

Nate started to laugh helplessly. 

“Like that, only with a Swedish accent and too many shoulder muscles.”

“That’s why he’s the captain,” Ginner pointed out. “So he can deal with the media and stuff. He eats that stuff up.”

“I know, but he gets so needy sometimes. It’s kind of exhausting. You’re his linemate, Nate. What’s his _deal?_ ”

Nate snorted. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but pretty much the only person he’s like that with is you.”

Matt just looked at him blankly. 

Nate shrugged a little. “Gabe likes all kinds of attention, but the _best_ kind of attention is _Dutchy_ attention.” He wiggled his eyebrows and took a sip of Coke.

Matt felt himself turning pink.

Nate snickered a little. “Does it really bother you?”

“No, but—I mean, it’s like owning a dog that can talk and drive and work doorknobs. It’s just _incessant_ , you know? He’s always following me around and demanding that I throw the ball. Dammit, sometimes I just want a rest! I don’t _want_ to throw the ball!”

Now Jamie and Nate were _both_ laughing. 

“Poor Dutchy. So clueless,” Jamie remarked. 

Matt was affronted—and confused. He looked from Ginner to Nate and back. “What do you mean?”

They both stuffed themselves with salad and refused to answer.

“Are—are you saying Gabe has a . . . a _crush_ on me or something?”

The guys exchanged a look. 

“Well—well, I’m sorry, but I’m straight.”

Nate rolled his eyes so hard Matt thought he might get eye-strain. “Okay.”

“Are you saying I’m _not_ straight?” Matt gasped. 

“Oh, my God, Dutchy. Believe it or not, I don’t actually think about your sexuality. I have other things on my mind. It’s not my business.”

“Then why are you acting like I’m being ridiculous?”

“Because, Dutchy,” Nate set his fork down and looked serious. “Whether you’re straight or not, you’re being ridiculous.”

Matt’s phone buzzed again.

Face hot and teeth clenched, he turned it off. 

\---

Eventually, after Gabe pulled his act again, Matt called him on it. They were up by one against Edmonton and Matt was talking with O’Reilly when Gabe wormed his way into the conversation and asked Matt to take a look at the back of his shirt—because something was itchy. Matt agreed and followed him to a corner of the room. 

“It feels like something is hanging down,” Gabe insisted. “You don’t see anything? No loose thread or anything?”

“Nope,” Matt said. Ordinarily, he would have taken the whole situation at face value. But after his conversation with Nate and Ginner, he’d started to pay more attention to—well, to Gabe’s need for attention. And Gabe _did_ like attention, but he demanded it more frequently from Matt than anybody else, and he was much more annoying about it, too. Matt noticed he got a lot worse if a guy—or girl—got in Matt’s personal space too much, or if Matt seemed to be enjoying the conversation that Gabe couldn’t hear, or if Matt touched someone—or someone touched him. Most of the time Gabe wasn’t too bad, but those were surefire triggers.

In fact, by the end of the week, Matt was amusing himself with a new game: Annoy Gabe Before Gabe Could Annoy Him.

It was really easy. All he had to do was flirt with a pretty girl, lean in real close, and Gabe would launch himself into the conversation and do absolutely anything in his power to distract Matt. 

If they were in a bar, for instance, and Matt leaned over and said, “You smell nice. What kind of—” he wouldn’t even have time to count to three before Gabe was there, throwing his arm around Matt, babbling something like, “Dutchy, I think I got a flat tire. Can you look at my tire? You think I should call someone?” 

It was a lot funnier and less frustrating when you weren’t actually trying to have a conversation.

But he still did it when Matt _was_ trying to have an actual conversation, so obviously something had to be done about it. 

So finally, after Ryan O’Reilly had jokingly brushed Matt’s hair back, telling him to lay off the gel before getting close to a flame ignited it, Gabe interrupted—as Matt expected he would.

This time, instead of letting the guy off the hook, Matt crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope, no loose strings. But that was a good one. Way more subtle than your usual shtick.”

Gabe looked blank. 

Matt helpfully clarified. “ _Usually_ when you get jealous because I’m paying too much attention to someone else, you come barreling in and make up some outlandish shit about having a flat tire or something, and drag me all the way out to the parking lot before admitting—whoops, I didn’t actually drive! I caught a ride with Iggy!”

Gabe gulped.

“You mind telling me what’s going on?”

Now Gabe looked nervous and embarrassed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Cut the crap, Gabe. You’re jealous. You get jealous of anyone who tries to come within ten feet of me. Shit, if I got in a fight you’d probably finagle your way into it just so the other guy wouldn’t have me all to himself.”

Gabe blushed bright, bright pink. “Sorry,” he said in a really small voice. He looked at his feet. “I guess I didn’t realize I was bothering you so much. I won’t do it anymore, I promise. I’ll give you some space.”

Matt let out a breath. “Thanks.” He looked Gabe over. Maybe Matt wasn’t . . . _that way_ , but he sure didn’t want to hurt Gabe’s feelings. “Are we cool?”

Gabe smiled. “Sure. We’re cool.”

\--

Gabe was as good as his word. When Matt tried to flirt with girls, there was no further interference. And when Matt chatted with one of the guys, Gabe gave him space.

Too much space. 

The first couple of times it happened, Matt was weirded out when no one came running over with a stupid excuse and a hopeful look on his face. Then he felt relieved. And then, after awhile, he felt sort of . . . disappointed? Which was stupid. He was kind of flattered, sure. He liked that Gabe wanted him all to himself. But things couldn’t go on that way—after all, allowing it to happen would be like—like leading Gabe on, sort of, and that wouldn’t be right. 

However, there was something less than fun about having drinks at an out of town bar, talking with a girl, and feeling her hand on his leg, only to look up and see Gabe . . . well. Gabe with that hangdog look on his face, like someone had reached right into his chest and clenched a fist around his heart. Gabe, noticing that Matt was looking at him, and hurriedly trying to get it together, giving Matt a tight smile and nod that said it’s okay when it obviously wasn’t okay, and—

Okay, so he’d hurt Gabe anyway.

What the hell could he do about it?

What difference did it make, anyway?

Embarrassing as it was, he found himself tentatively bouncing some thoughts off MacKinnon, just on the basis that Nate actually knew how Gabe felt and hadn’t been weird or grossed out by it. 

“It’s just . . . I kinda feel bad, you know?”

Nate nodded soberly. 

“What do you think I should do?”

Nate shrugged. “Dunno.”

Great. Fat lot of help he was. “Thanks,” Matty mumbled sarcastically.

Nate laughed. “What do you want from me? I just barely turned twenty! I’m supposed to be going to _you_ for advice, Gramps!” Matt just scowled, even though it was true. Nate wouldn’t have any experience in this type of thing. But then the kid surprised him. “What’s bothering you most about it? That his feelings are hurt? Are you worried how it will impact chemistry or some shit? Or are you just upset because you kinda wanted to go for it and you blew your chance?”

Matt flushed. That was way too close to the truth—more than he’d even been able to admit to himself. “It’s not that. I just don’t want to fuck our friendship up, that’s all,” he grumbled. 

Looking thoughtful, Nate dragged a hand through his hair. “I mean, I don’t think there’s much you can do. He likes you, and you don’t like him, and that sucks. You can’t help it, but he can’t either. I think all you can do is wait and, like, give him space. Shit like that.”

Matt heaved a sigh. “I know. It’s just hard. When he sees me he gives me this smile, and it’s—not a smile. It’s like he’s just trying to save face and he doesn’t want me to know, but I do know.” Matt scuffed a shoe against the floor. “Like it hurts to see me,” he mumbled. 

Nate shrugged, looking helpless. “Sorry. But . . . you know, just give it time and after a while things’ll get back on track and then he’ll be able to smile at you again,” he promised. 

“Yeah, right,” Matt sighed. “When?”

“Maybe when he meets someone else,” Nate said with another shrug. “You know. When he’s over you.”

\--

Matt gave that a lot of thought. Eventually, Landy would meet someone else, he’d get over it, and move on. And Matt should want that. That was the right thing to want, right? You’re supposed to want your friends to be happy. You couldn’t reject a guy but still want him all for yourself. Only selfish pricks pull shit like that.

And Matt definitely wasn’t a selfish prick.

Well, he didn’t _think_ he was a selfish prick, anyway.

But for some reason, whenever he thought about Gabe meeting some new guy and flashing him that thousand dollar smile and getting all possessive and goofy and stupid about somebody else, it made Matt feel sort of mad, like it wasn’t fair or something, like—well, like a selfish prick. 

So now things were weird.

And whenever they hung out together, like went out to a concert or even bowling, Matt couldn’t help but sneak looks at Landy and wonder. 

He tried to picture the new guy Gabe would fall for. What would he look like? Would he look like Matt? Sort of average, maybe a bit beat up from playing the game or whatever, with a goofy smile and hair that he thought made him look like Superman, when he really just looked like some sort of wayward Greaser? Which wouldn’t necessarily be bad: Gabe would definitely be a Soc, and then they could be, like, starcrossed lovers or some shit. On the other hand, Gabe could have lots of guys. Maybe the next one would be really good looking. Handsome like Gabe, tall, maybe even a model or something. Some of Gabe’s old friends from Sweden were pretty handsome. Gabe probably knew lots of people like that. He could probably find someone even hotter than he was, in Sweden.

At a group dinner that night, Matt caught the waiter—a greasy little rentboy type with a plastic smile—giving Gabe a wink along with his change, and suddenly Matt realized he could find all that a lot closer to home, too, and it wouldn’t take him long to find it, either.

The idea made Matt’s stomach turn sour. 

Wow, he really had blown it. The realization hit him like the ceiling crashing in on his head. Sure, at the time it was embarrassing and awkward, but now he was all kinds of jealous. He didn’t want Gabe to find someone else. He didn’t want Gabe fawning over some other guy. 

He wanted Gabe’s attention for himself. 

He had really, really blown it.

That night when he got home, he went directly into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror. Was he gay? Did he like guys? Well, he liked Gabe, anyway. Okay, sure, but really? It was one thing to get all crazy about Gabe liking other people, but then there was . . . sex. And that was a whole different animal. Face it, right now he was back in junior high, developmentally. He was too good for the boy who was falling all over him, right up until Johnny Weinerman and his red car stole him away, and seriously _fuck you_ , Johnny Weinerman, you stuck up snob, you think you’re so great just because your dad owns a car dealership. He was in full teenage histrionics, at least emotionally, but that was still about a hundred steps down from _but what does he do with his dick when we, uh, you know?_

It wasn’t as though Matt didn’t have any idea, but he sure hadn’t considered it in relation to, well, himself. Would he let Gabe—or would Gabe let him—wouldn’t that _hurt?_ Matt decided to spend some time on the internet, educating himself, just to see if he could picture it. After all, it would sure be stupid to approach Gabe and tell him he made a mistake without knowing what it really entailed, wouldn’t it?

He’d probably find the whole thing totally gross, realize what a mistake he was making, and get over it. 

Getting over it sounded like the best plan of all.

\--

The next day, tired from his experimentation—for _science_ —Matt admitted to himself that yeah, he could get off on the idea of that sort of thing. A _lot._ He’d watched a variety of stuff—after all, just watching one video wasn’t really a fair sample, was it? And he’d tried to picture Gabe, at least in various roles. Gabe, sucking a guy off. Gabe, sucking Matt off. Gabe, spread out on Matt’s bed, his naked body atop the snowy white quilt Matt’s grandmother had made for him. Gabe, looking up at Matt in that way he had, wanting Matt’s attention. Wanting _more._

It was enough to send Matty’s heart rate into orbit. Every time he thought about Gabe, sweet, strapping Gabe, hung like a stallion (Matt had peeked in the showers once or twice), his strong arms embracing Matt, his eyes lighting up whenever Matt was around . . . Gabe beneath the sheets, whimpering whenever Matt touched him, bodies sliding against each other, sweet skin against sweet, hot skin, Gabe atop him, Gabe beneath him, Gabe’s mouth on his mouth, on his neck, on his cock, the two of them wound together in yearning, trembling, tangle of arms and legs, feeling each other’s pulse on the tips of their tongues.

Yes. He could do that with Gabe. He could do that and lots more.

Now he just needed to find a way to tell the guy that.

\--

Matt didn’t get a chance to approach Gabe right away. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. They were deep into a playoff push and no one had energy outside of games and practice, or at least Matt didn’t. Or so he told himself. 

The truth was, he was chickening out. 

Every time he had a chance to be alone with Gabe long enough to bring it up, he’d manage a sickly smile, and Gabe would give him an even less convincing smile, and then they’d hurry to find reasons not to be alone together. 

Which was stupid, but then Matt had always known he was emotionally stunted. So far as he could tell, he’d made it as far as, ‘Oh my God, Becky, he _likes_ me! He told Sarah Brower in math class that he thought I was cute! Eeeeee! What should I _do?_ Should I _talk_ to him? Oh, I couldn’t _talk_ to him! I’ll just _die_ if I have to _talk_ to him!” What was it about Gabe that cannonballed him right back to being about twelve years old? For a split second, he even considered writing Gabe a note instead of trying to talk to him, before realizing that A) he was a grown fucking man, and grown fucking men did not stuff love notes in cute boy’s lockers, and B) he’d seen any number of sitcoms where that sort of shit went horribly wrong, and he wasn’t going to take any chances.

No, if he wanted Gabe, he was just going to have to man up and admit it. 

\--

“Why the hell are you so twitchy?”

“Huh?” Matt blinked.

“You keep squirming around,” Nate pointed out. He demonstrated, acting like he was being bit by several dozen fleas. 

“I’m not,” Matt protested. He was. They were out at Choppers for the evening and Matt had decided that, one way or another, tonight he was going to fucking do it. Confess. What the hell was his problem, anyway? He knew that Gabe liked him. Well, Gabe hadn’t actually said that, but it seemed to be common knowledge. So there wasn’t any real risk, was there? 

Still, for some reason, every time he looked over at Gabe, he turned to ice. Gabe was so . . . so cute. It was fucking ridiculous how cute he was. And funny. And outgoing. And hot. Really hot. Matt sneaked a glance at the guy, who was wearing one of his nearly transparent ‘dress’ shirts. It was the same color as his eyes. He looked good. No, he looked—what was the word? One of those food words. Yummy. Scrumptious. Mouthwatering. Yeah, that was a good one. 

“Uh, are you okay?”

Matt jumped. 

“Your eyes are kind of buggy,” Nate said helpfully, his eyes laughing. “You sure you’re not coming down with something? A case of Gabetitis, maybe?”

Matt flushed and ducked his head. “It’s not like it’s catching or anything,” he replied, basically admitting it. 

“I knew you’d come around.”

“Look who’s so smart all of a sudden.” Matt nursed his beer. Suddenly, he got an idea: liquid courage! He’d have a little something to take the edge off. Yeah, that would help him get up the nerve to tell Gabe the truth. 

He ordered himself a couple of shots of Jack Daniels, trying to hit that sweet spot where he’d feel warm and brave, but still able to tell Gabe the truth without slurring too much. One shot wasn’t enough. Two wasn’t enough either. Three wasn’t too bad. He meditated over that one for a while, trying to decide if he was good. No, not really. Every time he tried to picture going over to Gabe, a bubbly terror started at the top of his spine and flooded through him. This was dumb. He was dumb. He could talk to girls just fine. What was his problem? He had one more shot. Or was it two? While he sat there, mulling over his cowardice, he lost count.

That was a pretty good indication he’d gone from too little alcohol to too much. 

On the other hand, he _was_ feeling a bit better about life. His feet were kind of numb, but he had a deep and earnest conviction that telling Gabe he was beautiful and had a beautiful mouth and Matt would like to do things to that beautiful mouth was, in fact, the right thing to do. 

Matt straightened and scanned the room. There was Gabe, next to some guy. They were deep in conversation. The guy was beaming up at Gabe like he was a god or something, and Gabe looked like he was enjoying the attention. 

Matt caught Gabe’s eye and gave him an encouraging grin. 

Gabe grinned back, and Matt felt lightheaded. It had been a long time since he’d seen Gabe genuinely smile. He really was stunning when he smiled like that. Then Gabe turned back to the guy, still smiling, and Matt’s own smile slipped. 

Suddenly, all Matt could think about was what Nate had told him when he’d asked how long it would take before Gabe smiled like that again. _Maybe when he meets someone else. You know. When he’s over you._

Matt felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He’d missed his chance. He’d blown it. There Gabe was, with some other guy, basking in his attention. Matt was devastated. He should leave.

Without even feeling it, Matt stumbled across the room on numb feet. Somehow or another, instead of running for the door—or for Nate, who was planning on being a designated driver—he found himself right beside Gabe and his—his new friend. Matt opened his mouth and shut it. He should say something supportive. Be a good sport. Bow out gracefully. Be a friend. Gabe looked at him expectantly. The guy was leaning on Gabe’s arm possessively. 

Suddenly, Matt grabbed Gabe’s hand and pulled him away. “I THINK I HAVE A FLAT TIRE, GABE,” he said in that overly loud way drunks have. He hiccupped a little. “WOULD YOU PLEASE HAVE A LOOK AT IT? OUTSIDE?”

Gabe’s eyes widened. 

Matt swayed. He didn’t care if he _was_ too late. He couldn’t not try. “Please?” he said helplessly. 

Gabe laughed. He slipped an arm around Matt’s waist. “Sure, Dutchy,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go take care of your tire.”

\--

“What kind of music do you like?”

The little girl smiled up at Matt. “Country,” she said. 

“Me, too! Country’s my favorite.”

“I know! Brad Paisley is your favorite singer and you named your dog after him and you know how to play the guitar just like him,” his little fan gushed. 

Matt absolutely beamed. He just loved little kids. They were visiting Children’s Hospital, and he was visiting with Courtney James, who wasn’t sick herself, but who deserved a little attention because her brother had been in the hospital for several months with a rare blood disease. Matt knew that it was hard on the sick kid, but it was hard on the healthy kids, too. 

“You want me to sing you something?” He’d brought his guitar, just hoping for a chance like this. 

“ _Sure!_ ” Courtney exclaimed, like he was Garth Brooks or something, a real country superstar instead of, well, a hockey star. After a couple of songs, she was over the moon. “I want to do that! I want to learn to do that! I want to play the guitar, just like you!” She crawled into his lap and he tried to show her how to do the chords. At seven, she wasn’t quite getting it right, but her excitement more than made up for it. 

“Here, let me play you something. What’s your favorite song?”

“Two of a Kind, Workin’ on a Full House,” she told him. 

Matt began to strum and sing to her. After a minute or so, he got the weird feeling he was being watched, and looked up to see Gabe in the doorway, watching him and grinning. Sort of grinning. But sort of wiggling his shoulders, too, in that impatient way he had. Matt made him wait. He and Gabe had come to an understanding—Matt gave him as much attention as he could handle, but he had to be good and _earn_ it. And if he interrupted Matt with someone else, he wouldn’t earn anything but a cold look. 

After that song, he played another, and then another. Finally, when Courtney seemed to be getting bored, he gave his boyfriend a short nod. 

Immediately, Gabe hurried into the room, plucked a surprised Courtney off Matt’s lap, set her in a chair, and took her place. “It’s my turn,” he said as Courtney shrieked with laughter. 

Matt laughed too. He could barely fit his arms around Gabe enough to touch the guitar strings. 

“What is he _doing?_ ” Courtney demanded. 

“You know dogs?” Matt said. “Like how they need attention all the time?” Courtney giggled and nodded. “Well, he’s a Rottweiler who thinks he’s a lapdog.” 

Courtney was nearly hysterical. This was probably going to be one of her best memories ever. 

And Gabe was completely unapologetic. He grinned happily at Matt, squirming in his arms like he was right where he was supposed to be, thrilled that he got to sit in his boyfriend’s lap and get a song. 

Matt grinned at him. Gabe looked like he could just burst with pride. What a goof. Matt rested his chin on Gabe’s shoulder. “Any requests?” he asked, hoping he’d even be able to strum the guitar. 

But Gabe didn’t seem to care about that. “Yes,” he said, snuggling into Matt’s arms. “Pet me.”


End file.
